vanilla raindrops

email: noreia@planet-save.com.

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United States, California, sometimes Steiermark, Austria, something bored teenagers say when they speak useless words into brick walls of cotton candy, English, German, Noreia,creative writing, fiction, reading, college student, strange, cat power, mogwai, arap strap, dresden dolls, white oleander, the earth, my butt, and other big, round things, welcome to the dollhouse, fuckers.

body jewelry by bodyPUNKS!

body jewelry by bodyPUNKS!

body jewelry by BodyPUNKS!

 

it rained on tuesday, waterfalls from the sky, but it wasn't like the summer rain in austria. it was more dreary -- still magnificent, but it carried a blanket of sadness. i thought of the summer, so far away, of leaning against the window sill and watching heaven wash the narrow streets and stone walls of houses. under the showers, the colors were brighter. spots of red from flower boxes in windows. gardens and gardens. occasional cars, the sound of tires spinning in puddles and the techno beat of "dragosta din tea." the air was fresh. the castle's orange lights glistened over the pines on the hill above our little town.

so far away on tuesday, on wednesday. i listened to Thursday; i liked the screaming. i liked to lose myself in the noise, the distorted guitars again. i'd forgotten the need for that.

my grandpa was a good man, but i didn't know him as well as i could have. i didn't know how to. "the end of an era," my grandmother said in tears. and i saw death for the first time, in that hospital room. and then the sun came out, and shone all over the watered earth, tinged it with gold.

i don't know how to process all of this. putting it in words seems meaningless and almost insulting, irreverent. thinking about it seems meaningless. we go on. i am young, and i know nothing.

yesterday i watched two local bands play at a coffee shop. everyone stood still, observing, with slight tips of their heads to the beat. so spike and i danced. we gave those teenagers with their guitars and basses and drums and mics what we could. i closed my eyes and let my arms flail, headbanged until my neck was sore and then kept on. the first band had their parents and grandparents there, videotaping. "and nobody moves, and everyone's scared that the motion will never come," so we moved. the guitarist/singer caught my eye and we shared a smile, and i didn't care that i kept losing the beat, i didn't care that nobody else was dancing. "love is a movement," and life is still worth living, and why don't we do what makes us truly happy?

kurtis

Posted by: noreia at 13:59 | link | comments (2) |